"Busy. Lots of company lately, Mr. Drew."
"Company?"
"Yes, there's a young feller come along who says he wants to see you.
He's over there by the creek now, fishin' I think. I told him I'd holler
if I seen you, but I guess you wouldn't mind ridin' over that way
yourself."
Drew brought his horse to a halt.
"What does he want of me?"
"Dunno. Something about wanting to hunt and fish on your streams here."
"Why didn't you tell him he was welcome to do what he liked? Must be an
Easterner, Logan."
"Wants to bunk in the old house, too. Seems sort of interested in it."
"That so? What sort of a fellow is he?"
"All right. A bit talky. Green; but he rides damn well, an' he smokes
good tobacco."
His hand automatically rose and touched his breast pocket.
"I'll go over to him," said Drew, and swung his horse to the left, but
only to come again to a halt.
He called over his shoulder: "What sort of a looking fellow?"
"Pretty keen--dark," answered Logan, slipping down into his original
position. "Thin face; black eyes."
"Ah, yes," murmured Drew, and started at a trot for the creek.
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